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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25491592">Walking Across the Fire - A Collection of Short Fics</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Prairie_Garden_Girl/pseuds/Prairie_Garden_Girl'>Prairie_Garden_Girl</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>A Song of Ice and Fire &amp; Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Cold Weather, Danger, Drabble Collection, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, First Meetings, Gen, Multi, One Shot Collection, Parkas, Pets, Ravens, Romance, Rookery - Freeform, Smut, Warging, fast love, the wall - Freeform</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 03:15:15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>10,806</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25491592</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Prairie_Garden_Girl/pseuds/Prairie_Garden_Girl</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>One shots, drabbles and short fics inspired by ASOIAF/GRRM's characters.<br/>Tags will be added as works are added!</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>43</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. A Good Lady</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Hi everyone! <br/>Brevity is not my strength, so in an effort to practice writing shorter works, I have begun this collection of drabbles and one-shots.<br/>Each chapter will be a stand-alone story, experiment or idea, and they won't be connected to each other in any way.<br/>Some of the ideas might get expanded into longer works, if the spirit moves me! 🤣 <br/>I'll give a brief intro at the start of each piece, so you can skip over it if it's not your thing ☺<br/>As I add to the collection, I will also add to the tags.<br/>George R R Martin owns the characters you are familiar with, as well as the fictional world of Westeros; I am just playing with it!<br/>Here we go!</p>
<p>***</p>
<p>This first one is very short. Sansa takes Lady for a walk, and something strange happens.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span class="u"><strong>A Good Lady</strong> </span>
</p>
<p>Sansa clipped the leash onto Lady's collar and stood aside, letting the young russet and cream coloured husky/shepherd mix leap out of the back seat. Sansa's shift work allowed her to bring her pup to the dog park at quieter times of the day. At 10 o'clock in the morning, there were for the most part only seniors walking their little lap dogs, or parents pushing a pram with the family best friend alongside.</p>
<p>Without the distraction of too many people or dogs around, Sansa felt very comfortable walking around with Lady and working on her training. Lady was perfectly mannered on-leash, and had been doing exceptionally well off-leash as well; at just under two years of age, the dog was proving to be gentle, sensitive, and intelligent. She was growing into her name. Sansa was proud of her, and couldn't imagine her life without Lady in it.</p>
<p>Sansa led the way onto one of the park pathways, choosing a narrower, less-traversed track canopied by leggy birch and poplar trees on either side. It was a sunny morning, but breezy. Leaves hissed and rattled on spindly, swaying boughs, punctuated by the birdsong of sparrows and jays: nature's soundtrack for a peaceful stroll.</p>
<p>Farther along the path, Sansa halted and had Lady sit. Confidently, she removed the leash from the silver-studded blue collar and draped it around her shoulders. Lady looked up at her mistress, awaiting a command.</p>
<p>"Heel," Sansa instructed, resumed walking, and Lady fell into step next to her. The pair wandered along companionably, Lady sniffing at the air and the ground, briefly poking her curious nose into bushes to investigate a scent before rejoining her mistress. Sansa allowed her mind to relax, taking in the warm sunshine, grateful for the refreshing breeze; later in the day, the heat could be oppressive and a walk far less pleasant.</p>
<p>They rounded a bend in the trail and about ten yards along, saw an elderly woman stooping to bag a deposit left by her little white terrier. Automatically, Sansa asked Lady to heel, wanting her to stay close. Lady was a larger dog, and although docile, she could look intimidating. Sansa thought about clipping on the leash, but decided not to. Perhaps it was her pride; she wanted others to see that Lady was obedient and trustworthy in public.</p>
<p>In the next instant, several things seemed to happen at once: a small brown blur streaked across the pathway, from left to right, just in front of the woman with the terrier. The ball of fur crashed through the light brush and skinny trees on the right side of the trail; the terrier started yapping excitedly and sprang after the animal, its thin pink leash flapping behind it.</p>
<p>"<em> Dolly </em>!" shrieked the woman, startled by the sudden action and too slow to react. Her little dog had already disappeared into the brush, its barking the only clue to its location.</p>
<p>Lady gave two sharp barks of her own before plunging into the bushes after the rabbit and the terrier. "Lady, stay!" Sansa called with authority, but for the first time since the dog was a puppy, Lady didn't heed her mistress. There was nothing for it but for Sansa to chase her dog, the older woman following behind, blubbering in distress.</p>
<p>Sansa thanked the gods that the shrubbery was fairly sparse here as she picked her way over fallen branches and through uncut undergrowth, but the gratitude soon turned to dismay as she exited the trees: she'd emerged onto a narrow strip of field running alongside the busy highway, there was no fence, and the dogs were nearly at the road.</p>
<p>No, thought Sansa, <em> please no </em>…</p>
<p>"<em> LADY, STOP </em>!" she screamed at the top of her lungs, breaking into a full sprint. Lady glanced back at Sansa and didn't stop; but time did. Sansa's eyes rolled back as her feet stumbled in slow motion, and her knees dropped to meet the ground.</p>
<p>***</p>
<p><em> Noise, noise, noise! Machines...red girl...little white beast. </em> All her senses were flooded with information, all at once, threatening to overwhelm her. <em> Machines, noise! </em> She gave her head a shake, and got her bearings. <em> There. Stupid little white beast. Naughty thing. Get it! </em> She scolded the reckless creature sharply and when it slowed, unsure, she leaped and landed a big paw on top of the creature's dragging lead. That stopped it in its tracks, and she was able to grab the lead in her panting mouth. A low growl, a warning, and she turned with the creature in tow, trotting back toward the park. <em> Red girl, </em> she thought, <em> good girl. </em></p>
<p>***</p>
<p>Garbled voices brought Sansa out of the darkness: one shrill and warbling, another deeper, calm and soothing. She groaned and opened her eyes to a blue sky and a strange, heavily scarred male face peering down at her.</p>
<p>"She's coming round! Oh, thank the gods!" cried a woman to her left side.</p>
<p>"Aye," said the man; he was holding onto Sansa's wrist, looking at her intently. "Miss, you may have had a seizure. Stay where you are, an ambulance is on the way. I'm an off-duty EMT," he added reassuringly.</p>
<p>Sansa squinted. A seizure? The last thing she remembered was... "My dog! Lady!" she choked out. At the sound of her mistress' voice, the pup appeared to stick a cold, wet nose in Sansa's ear.</p>
<p>The woman to her left spoke up. "Oh my dear girl, your dog saved my Dolly! Grabbed her by the lead and brought her straight back to me!" she explained. "I'm eternally grateful; your Lady is a good, good dog!"</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Do the Job Right</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>*Warning for sexually explicit content*<br/>Just your basic smutty one-shot right here!</p>
<p>This one is for Aprilhw3, because she just can't wait for these two to get into bed together! 😂</p>
<p>Sansa asks her handyman, Sandor, to do some extra work.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span class="u">
    <strong>Do the Job Right</strong>
  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She led Sandor out of the kitchen, through the living area past the mirrored coat closet door and down the hall toward the bedrooms, turning into her own. He followed her into the cozy, feminine room, padding across the plush carpet in stockinged feet; she glanced at him nervously as she turned again, closing the bedroom door with both of them inside. Sansa leaned her back against the door and looked at the tall, strong, and somewhat bewildered man standing in front of her. Gods, he made her heart pound.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"What was it you wanted me to have a look at?" Sandor asked cautiously, stationary as a statue. If he </span>
  <em>
    <span>had</span>
  </em>
  <span> been a statue, it would have been of the Warrior. Really, Sansa mused, all Warrior statues ought to be modeled after Sandor.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sansa swallowed, blushing from collar to hairline. Was she really doing this? She had thought about it for ages, about getting up close and personal with her handyman (read: down and dirty with her handyman), never really sure that she would have the guts when it came down to it...Yes, she decided, she was really doing this.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She cleared her throat. "The door...the hinges, they creak. Sometimes." It wasn’t exactly a lie, the door did make noise on damp days, but that wasn’t really why she wanted Sandor in her room. She was stalling, to her own chagrin. She licked her lips and blinked several times, hoping she was giving off an alluring vibe, but afraid she probably looked like she was suffering from heat stroke.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sandor didn't move, and didn't take his eyes off her, regarding her carefully. His pupils seemed blacker, she thought...Sandor's usual expressions encompassed various degrees of irritability; Sansa dearly wished to see his lusty face, if in fact he had one. Suddenly he stepped forward, but slowly, calmly, as if approaching a cornered cat.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Creaky hinges," he rasped. "That's fucking annoying. Easy fix though; I can take care of that for you." Yes, take care of it Sandor...</span>
  <em>
    <span>please take care of it</span>
  </em>
  <span>...</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He came closer, so close. Sansa had to tilt her head back to look him in the eye; her loose waves of auburn hair brushed against the door. Sandor reached out and gripped the doorknob next to Sansa's left hip, and she grabbed his bulging forearm to stop him from opening the door. They both looked down at her dainty hand on his work-chiseled arm. He was warm, firm; the hair there was dark and coarse, the same as what covered his chest, she imagined...and his legs, she guessed...and…</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sansa looked back up at Sandor's face, the left side twisted with old burn scars, the right side intact and ruggedly handsome. The face that she'd been scandalously fantasizing about for weeks. It was still schooled into a neutral expression, but she observed that the side of his neck was visibly pulsing, his silver-grey eyes nearly black, the scarred left corner of his beautiful mouth twitched ever so slightly, giving away his tension. Sansa had the almost overwhelming urge to lick that scarred corner, soothe it into relaxation...her own lips parted at that thought, and her breathing became quick and shallow. Sandor's hand was still on the doorknob, and now he raised his other big, rough paw and pressed it against the door, caging Sansa in the space between his powerful wingspan. There was a surge of moisture under her skirt, and she sighed involuntarily. Her body willed him to touch her, but he remained unmoving; close enough to feel his breath on her forehead, but very, very still. Finally he spoke again.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Could be your hinges just need a little lubrication," he suggested pragmatically, and just a hint suggestively. His eyes held a challenge, testing Sansa's will. She didn't look away.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sansa swallowed again. She wished her throat didn't feel so dry. "Actually, I doubt any lubrication will be necessary," she managed hoarsely. Her legs felt gelatinous under her. She resolved to make a move, before her nerves got the best of her. She reached both her hands up to his face and gently ran her fingers through his neatly trimmed beard; he flinched slightly at her touch, surprised, but didn't move away. Sansa took that as a positive sign, and went for something even bolder, that couldn't possibly be misinterpreted. She moved her hands right down to Sandor's belt buckle and tugged at it, undoing the button and the fly of his faded jeans at the same time. It was indecorous, of course, and risky; she could be setting herself up for humiliating rejection here.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sandor's eyes snapped to hers, and now for the first time, she could see all that was going through his mind: disbelief, at first, then desire (</span>
  <em>
    <span>yes</span>
  </em>
  <span>!), decisiveness. He planted his hand firmly on her hip, and she nearly sagged with relief. His hand was hot and trembling. She wanted it under her skirt.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Is it my cock you’re after? Fuck me sideways…,” Sandor muttered incredulously, eyes burning. “You sure this is what you want, girl?" His face was mere inches from hers now; his breath smelled of the lemon-coconut biscuits she had baked and left on the table for him this morning. He was obviously a fan; there weren't any biscuits left.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sansa nodded. "Yes," she hissed. "Badly. I want you." The truth was out, and she felt free.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>At that, the hand Sandor still had on the doorknob moved to her body, and his face dropped those last few inches until their mouths met, moist and eager. That first kiss was searingly hot, like touching the edge of a sizzling fry pan. Sansa drew back, momentarily shocked by the intensity of the sensation, but quickly closed the gap again to press the end of her wet tongue against the scarred corner of his mouth, like she’d imagined doing. She tasted the spot where his plush lip met puckered scar tissue; the growl that issued from Sandor's throat vibrated against her mouth, and she very nearly liquefied right then and there. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His scorching hand moved up Sansa’s rib cage and rested just under her round left breast. He watched his own thumb sweep across the front of her blouse, over the sharp bud of her nipple. She arched her back away from the door and pressed into Sandor’s touch; she needed skin to skin contact, and she needed it now. She rapidly unbuttoned her blouse and shucked it off, letting it drop in a silken pile behind her feet.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ve wanted this every day you’ve been in my house, Sandor,” Sansa confessed. “I’ve wanted to feel you touching me, I’ve thought about you...inside me.” She pulled at the hem of his black t-shirt and slid her greedy fingers underneath, scratching her nails through the hair on his solid abdomen.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sandor grunted sceptically, but pressed closer to her nevertheless. “Well that’s fucked up...a fucking goddess like you could have anyone. What could you possibly want with a surly, scarred fucker like me?” So many things, Sandor, you have no idea, she thought.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ll be happy to explain my feelings later,” Sansa breathed, impatiently lifting his shirt up his torso. “Right now, I need you Sandor, </span>
  <em>
    <span>please</span>
  </em>
  <span>…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He appeared to choose not to argue further. He grasped his t-shirt and whipped it off himself, then returned his hands to Sansa, sending them on a mission up her just-above-knee-length circle skirt; he traced the outsides of her bare thighs until he reached her panty line, and then he slid the tips of his fingers under the scalloped lace edge that covered her arse.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Fucking hells woman, what have you got going on under here,” he uttered darkly into her ear, giving her gooseflesh all over. Sansa had purposely selected her newest, sexiest matching lace bra and panty set to wear, and she gave herself a mental pat on the back; Sandor seemed to appreciate the delicately textured fabric contrasted against her smooth skin.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sansa turned her head in search of Sandor’s lips, and found them, hungry and needy. His coarse beard and moustache scraped against the soft skin of her upper lip and her chin, and she loved the feeling. She opened her mouth to him, tasting his lemon-coconut tongue sliding along hers, savouring the manly wood and grease and sweaty scent of him. She felt his hands curl around her hips and buttocks...he pushed up on her, his arousal solidly obvious against her belly. It finally occurred to her that they were still standing up against her bedroom door; it was time to get more comfortable.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Come to my bed,” she invited him, murmuring into his mouth.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He murmured back : “You don’t have to ask me twice.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>***</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sandor figured he must be at home, in bed, fast asleep after a long fucking work day, having the most vivid fucking wet dream of his gods-damned life. Either that, or he’d had a serious medical incident and was insensible to the world, living out a fantasy in the coma dimension. No way this could fucking be real, no way he was still inside fucking gorgeous Sansa Stark’s home, in Sansa Stark’s fucking bedroom with the fucking door closed, kissing Sansa Stark. No fucking way.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His mind quickly ran through the last ten minutes just to see if it made any fucking kind of sense whatsoever...Sansa had paid him for the completed work: the replacement of all her main floor windows and exterior doors, framing and drywall repairs where necessary, the repainting of the living room. That was the extent of the job for now; in another six months, it was going to be the basement windows, new light fixtures throughout the house, and more painting.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She had written out the cheque and handed it to him, seeming fidgety and nervous. He’d chalked that up to her probably wanting him the fuck out of her house already; he’d been there nearly every day for three weeks now. He couldn’t blame her. She was a single woman, young and beautiful. No doubt it made her uncomfortable having a big ugly fucker stomping around, dusting up her pretty things all the time. But then, instead of saying thanks and fuck off, she had told him there was one other small thing she wanted his help with, and so he’d innocently followed her here, into her bedroom. Where she had undone his fucking trousers.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Aye, that was the sequence of events...he hadn’t imagined it. And he wasn’t currently imagining the feeling of her soft, smooth, sweet-scented and pink blushing skin under his calloused fingertips; the taste of her tongue as she plunged it into his dubious but very willing mouth; the electrifying sensation of her burgundy painted nails dragging across his body. And clear as daylight, she had just asked him to come to her fucking bed. Fuck yes, he would do that, gladly. He would give her whatever the fuck she wanted and then some.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>***</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sansa had drawn back the covers on her queen bed and planted herself in the middle, watching Sandor push his jeans and boxers down and kick them off onto the floor. The sight of this man getting naked in front of her was enough to change her complexion from peachy to fuschia. She hardly knew him, it was true...it was also true that she had never done this sort of thing before, seduced a mere acquaintance, been so </span>
  <em>
    <span>bold</span>
  </em>
  <span> and </span>
  <em>
    <span>explicit</span>
  </em>
  <span>…</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Oh she’d had boyfriends, yes. Men with soft hands and soft faces, who dressed in suits and schmoozed and made deals at cocktail parties. Men who had thought that Sansa was perfect, or had expected her to be their version of perfect: pretty, smiling, courteous, a pushover, a doormat. Men who had lied and manipulated and evaded. Sansa was no longer interested in men like that.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Now here was Sandor Clegane, rough and crass, but direct, matter-of-fact. He was the tallest man she had ever seen, with a hard, sculpted body; not from lifting weights in a gym, but from lifting cinder blocks and sheets of drywall and plywood. He worked long days, all of them physical. He’d come highly recommended...for his handyman skills.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sansa had compiled a list of five companies from whom to get quotes for the renovations she'd had in mind. She had purchased this charming, 30-year old bungalow as her first home on her own; everything in it was original, and it was badly in need of updating - the grey marbled carpeting, brass light fixtures, and 8’ x 4’ floor-to-ceiling mirrors in nearly every room, were not to her taste. She’d had four quotes, and Sandor’s would be the fifth. Her friend Brienne had given his name, he was a friend of Tormund’s. Of the five men who had come into Sansa’s home, Sandor was the only one who refused to do the job she wanted done. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Your windows are fucked,” he’d said bluntly. “They’re 30 years old, same as everything else. The paint around the window frame in the living room is cracked and bubbling, means there’s likely a leak; you can spend your 20,000 dragons redecorating, but you’ll just end up tearing it out when you find out you’ve got mold. My advice? Get your windows done first, clean up the structural issues, </span>
  <em>
    <span>then</span>
  </em>
  <span> fancy up the inside. It’ll last longer that way.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He was the only one who had told her that, been honest, the only one not willing to take her money just to make her wish list come true. It was a hard pill to swallow, she had spent so much time creating mood boards of paint colours and light fixtures and cabinet hardware...but Sansa realized that Sandor was correct; the soundness of her home was of more immediate importance than the aesthetics. She asked him how soon he could get started on the windows. A month later, he was banging around and ripping things apart, then expertly putting them back together, sweating and grunting and looking incredibly masculine and heart-stoppingly sexy in his distressed Levi's that fit his arse </span>
  <em>
    <span>just so nicely.</span>
  </em>
  <span> And now he was standing beside her bed, Levi's on the floor, with his massive penis straining toward her, at her invitation.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sansa drank in Sandor’s Warrior form: six feet and eight inches of dark hair, brooding eyes, tanned skin, and labour-hardened muscles. The front of him was practically carpeted in nearly black, coarse fur, from his cheeks down to his ankles; white-hot pleasure bolted through her at the sight. He clearly wasn’t into manscaping, nor should he be. She pictured rubbing herself on one of his long, strong, hairy thighs and shivered with anticipation. Sansa had daydreamed about this man, and this moment, for weeks. Daydreamed about his face between her legs...his hands on her breasts...his undiplomatic mouth on every inch of her quivering skin…</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She looked up at his face as he stood there at the side of her bed, waiting. He was looking back at her like a hungry dog, fixated on a tasty morsel but obediently awaiting instruction instead of pouncing, lest he earn a cuff around the ears for his presumptuousness.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She loudly let out the breath she didn't realize she was holding in and held out a hand toward him, and he came at her like a torpedo, knocking her over onto her back, planting his hands onto the mattress on either side of her shoulders. She gasped out a laugh as she bounced on the bed from his sudden added weight; he was like a giant puppy greeting his mistress.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m going to be fucking straight with you,” Sandor said candidly, “As you're a paying client, it's fucking inappropriate, but...I’ve entertained thoughts of you under me like this. Or on top of me. Or bent over your velvety living room sofa.” His gaze was boring into her, his face so close to hers that she could see the thin, pale silvery-blue halo that circled his grey irises.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sansa smiled easily, biting her lip, relaxing at his words. “I’m relieved to hear it!” she exclaimed, then giggled at his cocked eyebrow. “At least I know it’s not one sided!” she added, running her delicate hands up his chest and along his broad shoulders, marvelling at the fact that he was at least twice as broad as she was.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No, it’s fucking not,” he agreed emphatically, dipping his mouth down to nip at the tender spot between her shoulder and her neck. “I don’t know what you’re used to, and I don’t know how many chances I’m going to get with you, so right now I’m just going to take the opportunity to do the job right. I’d like to bring you off, maybe more than once if you’ll let me." He gave her clavicle and her throat a long lick before looking back at her passion-glazed eyes. "Tell me what you like, tell me what you want to do."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Oohh, I like everything you do, Sansa thought. Her lady parts were throbbing insistently. She collected herself with a couple of deep breaths, and cleared her throat. “There are condoms in the bedside table, next to you,” she indicated the drawer with her glance. “But first, umm…” she hesitated. Sansa was unaccustomed to baldly declaring her sexual desires.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Say it, girl,” Sandor encouraged. “You won’t embarrass yourself with me. I’ll give you anything you want, just say the word.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Fortified by Sandor’s bluntness, Sansa nodded. Today was the day for taking chances, grabbing what she wanted. “I’d like you to lie down on the bed...on your back...I’d like to put my…” Of all the fantasies she could choose from, there was one that she kept on repeat in her mind. She met his eyes. “I want to sit on your face, so you can put your mouth on me that way.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sansa couldn’t believe how quickly the big man could move. Where his furry, brooding face had been, now she saw only her bedroom ceiling. He was a blur of motion, one moment hovering above her, the next moment flat on his back, cock standing at attention like a flagpole in the middle of her bed, a claim staked.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sansa sat up and opened up the drawer of her bedside table, fishing out a condom and placing it on one of the pillows. "For later," she said, and came up to kneel next to him. Her fingers itched to touch him, so she did; starting at his solid thigh, she glided her hand up to cup his glorious balls, then grasped his rock hard member. Sandor groaned as his substantial erection twitched in her hand. Sansa licked her lips, noting the fact that her fingers and her thumb couldn't quite touch each other around his girth. She wasn't intimidated though; just very turned on. She reluctantly let go and allowed her fingers to continue their little tour along Sandor's torso. His skin was so hot, it trembled under her touch, and his feverish gaze left no question in Sansa's mind about his desire for her. Her hand stopped at his lips, and he kissed her fingers almost reverently.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She reached behind her back to unhook her black lace demi-cup bra, letting it drop from her shoulders. She tossed it aside and rose up on her knees to wiggle out of the matching panties, watching Sandor's face as she did so; he looked for all the world like he was in agony, his brows drawn together and his teeth clenched tight, low growls rumbling in his barrel chest.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Get over here," he commanded, once Sansa had removed her undergarments. She braced herself with her hands on his pectorals and straddled his powerful rib cage. "I can fucking smell your delicious cunt," he gasped in a strangled voice. "Gods have mercy, I'd like a taste of it. You're killing me, woman; let me taste you before I die," he begged.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Soon," Sansa promised sweetly. "Kiss me." She leaned forward and pressed her mouth to his, opening up to deepen their connection. Their tongues slid together rhythmically as Sandor used his hands on her, reaching around her hips to touch her slick folds. She gasped and bucked at the contact; the area was swollen and sensitive, even a feather touch was enough to make her jump. He paused, then probed a little more firmly, and she moaned into his mouth. How she had ached for those fingers!</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She brought her hands to the mattress on either side of Sandor's head and shimmied herself up a bit higher on his body, leaning over his face to give him a nipple to suck on. He accepted it eagerly, drawing the perky red rosebud into his mouth and circling it with his tongue. Sansa hummed with pleasure and Sandor broke contact, rooting around for the other breast. He gave that one a nibble and got a loud gasp out of Sansa in exchange. He broke off and looked at her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Get up on your knees," he instructed her. "Spread your legs a little wider." </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sansa did as he asked, and he scooted his body down so that his face lined up perfectly with her undercarriage. He admired the area for a few moments, then brought his hands up for a manual inspection. His thumbs spread her apart, back to front, slowly; then he ran them back through her slit, gathering the wetness that was accumulating from her arousal. He massaged her taint and it felt so good, she tilted her hips and grabbed Sandor's hand, leading him to touch her deeper.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sandor had the hands of a man who worked hard and handled rough materials. His fingers were tough and calloused, but deft and sure; they circled Sansa's swollen clit expertly, the contrast between rough and soft creating an excruciatingly delicious friction. Sansa could hardly stand it, her thighs were beginning to tremble.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Sandor, </span>
  <em>
    <span>please</span>
  </em>
  <span>," she groaned. "Ah, please, I need you…"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He muttered something profane under his breath as he slid one thick finger into Sansa's wet entrance, curling his knuckle as he progressed. "Fucking tight, so fucking sweet," he mumbled. "You need to be fucked, and I need you to handle my cock...I'm going to make you come first." He withdrew his finger slightly but quickly added a second one, sliding the tandem back inside and stretching her opening so divinely.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sansa began panting and laced her fingers through Sandor's hair, pulling and scratching at his scalp to the rhythm he'd set with his magical stroking fingers. She closed her eyes, rocked her hips, and gave herself over to ecstasy. It was coming for her, hard and fast, just moments away...she chanted all her vowels over and over but as she tumbled over the edge, she called for Sandor, crying out for him to catch her as she free-fell into blinding rapture.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He was there for her. As her orgasm slammed into her, he clamped his hands around the tops of her thighs and brought her down to his mouth. Her pleasure poured out and he drank greedily, not wanting to let a drop go to waste. Sandor was a parched hound; he lapped at her fountain as if it was to be his last drink. Sansa was in the throes of aftershocks, moaning affirmations, when he flipped her onto her back. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Sweeter than the Maiden," Sandor growled. "You should taste yourself, it's the fucking nectar of the gods." He kissed his way up her body to her mouth, not bothering to wipe his face of her essence; he found her mouth, kissing her deeply. She indeed tasted herself on him, musky and spicy, and it was the most erotic thing she'd ever experienced. So far.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sandor sat up and back on his haunches, between Sansa's spread legs, retrieving the condom packet from the pillow. His biceps flexed provocatively as he opened it up and rolled on the rubber, glancing across the bedroom with narrowed eyes. Sansa wondered, in her heady haze, what he was looking at, but she soon found out. With his strong arms he lifted her bodily to rearrange her position on the bed, laying her perpendicular to the headboard and making sure her head was hanging over the side of the mattress. At first she thought he just wanted access to her long neck, but when she looked across the room, she realized why he had arranged her this way: her floor-to-ceiling mirrored closet door was there, and they could watch themselves fucking like this.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sansa huffed out a laugh and she blushed at the thought of seeing her reflection about to get shagged. This was going to be another first for her, and she found she wasn't opposed to it in the least. In fact, she already felt her arousal building again. And she had wanted to get rid of all these mirrors! She was going to have to rethink that choice...She looked across the short distance at the mirror and watched Sandor position himself, resting his heavy prick on her pubic area, staring at her in the reflection; she plateaued at the sight and squirmed impatiently. Sandor raised his eyebrows.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Do you want my cock?" he brazenly asked her reflection. "It's hard as fucking concrete."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was difficult to answer with her head thrown back as it was, but she squeaked out a "Yes, please!" </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sandor's reflection smirked back at her as he began to guide his impressive penis to its destination. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He pressed just the first few inches into her, grunting at the effort of maintaining control. "You're sopping wet, girl," he panted, "but I'll go easy. You're so fucking tight, I'm going to lose my fucking mind."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sansa mewed back at him, watching in the mirror as their bodies melted together. She saw her long auburn waves hanging down to brush the carpet; midday sunlight streamed through the window picking out the fiery strands of red, seemingly coloured by the blood rushing into her face. She saw Sandor reach forward to grasp the plush globe of her breast, plucking at her erect nipple as if it were a ripe strawberry. She watched as he wrapped a forearm under the small of her back and buried himself, inch by sweet inch into her ravenous cleft; watched him move his hand from fondling her breast to stimulating her sensitive pearl. It was all happening in front of her, to her reflection, like an out of body experience.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She rushed back into her own body, acutely aware of all the points of contact between herself and the man inside her. The pressure was glorious, full and intense but not painful. Sansa felt as if she might explode, so she opened her legs as wide as possible, arched her back even more. Gods, the ache was delectable; Sandor wasn't even moving yet, just holding himself there, rubbing at her clit with his thumb, but the plateaus were coming, those far away jolts of electricity building, getting ever closer. She cracked out a long moan.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Ahhhhh...Sandor…"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Seven bloody buggering hells," Sandor replied through gritted teeth. "Don't fucking move!"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>***</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sandor was hanging by a thread, fighting desperately for control of his senses. Fuck, but her sweet pussy had a grip on him, pulling him in...just a wiggle of her hips right now and he would be done for, and he didn't </span>
  <em>
    <span>want</span>
  </em>
  <span> to be done yet. He zeroed his focus in on Sansa, on her swollen little ridge of nerves, making sure she felt good and was ready to take it when he started going hard in a minute. Fucksakes, he wasn’t religious at all, but he prayed to any god that would hear him to let him last, and not fucking embarrass himself with this flame-haired siren.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her heavenly cunt was already starting to twinge again, and gods willing, she would come hard around his cock. He would do what he could to make it happen. Nothing would make him happier than to watch her breathtakingly beautiful face transform as she hurtled to her peak, and to hear her screams of euphoria one more time. Finally, he’d gotten a grip now, and he was confident he wouldn’t lose it; he looked across at their reflections in the mirror, seized both her hips and rocked against her, slowly and gently. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sansa made a loud noise of approval, so he picked up the pace, gave it a little more oomph. Fuck, that blush of hers turned him on: blood rushing to her chest, her neck, her smooth, pretty cheeks...he noted suddenly, in the reflection, that the red was starting to turn a bit purple...fuck, she’d been upside down too long, that wouldn’t do!</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sandor wrapped his arms behind her back and lifted her upright, kissing her soundly as they came face to face. He could still detect the taste of her cunt on her lips.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sansa,” he growled. “Turn around, on your hands and knees. I want you to watch.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sansa nodded, breathless, and disengaged herself from their embrace. She went on all fours on the bed in front of Sandor, facing the mirror, making eye contact with him in the reflection.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>hot</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Sandor groaned, palming her pretty arse.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She raised her butt like an animal in heat and backed against Sandor’s body, whimpering. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Please, Sandor</span>
  </em>
  <span>!” she cried.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What is it, girl? Say what you want,” he demanded, rubbing his stiff wood along her ass crack, shooting a dark, lusty gaze at Sansa's mirror self.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The look Sansa returned to him was feisty. “Fuck me!” she barked. Gods, she was fucking sassy, and he loved it. This was a whole new side to the courteous little lady he'd interacted with over the past few weeks.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“As you wish!” On the double, he slid himself back home, and this time there was no need for moderation. Sandor plowed her, pumping, thrusting with happy abandon...He was no stranger to fucking, he’d had his share of romps, but he couldn’t recall ever feeling quite this enthusiastic about it in the past. Sansa Stark was a queen, everything about her was worthy of worship, and it was a bloody privilege to dip his peasant cock in her regal cunt. He wouldn’t take it for granted. If this was to be his one and only experience with this woman, he was going to soak it up and commit every arch of her spine, every obscene sound, every scent and flavour of their sex to memory for the rest of his days.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She was slick as fuck. Sandor put on the brakes and let Sansa do the driving, looking down at her perky rear end as she arched and worked to slide her sumptuous cunt back and forth along his glistening phallus. Every time she backed up against his abdomen, he felt the faint fluttering of her inner walls along the length of his cock; fuck, she was getting close. He wrapped his arms around her and sat back on his heels, pulling her onto his lap. One big paw cupped a bouncing breast and the other went down between her legs to work her slippery clit.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sandor put his lips to her ear, breathing hot and hard. "Look," he growled, staring at her in the mirror as she writhed against him. "So fucking gorgeous...look how sexy you are when you come."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As if on cue, Sansa ground her bottom into Sandor's lap and let out a husky wail; Sandor felt the walls of her cunt clamp down hard around his cock, again and again, along with a generous surge of wetness at his fingertips.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Seven save me," he grunted, squeezing his eyes shut and reveling in the sensation. She was really singing for him now, and it was his new favourite song. His scrotum tightened, but he wanted to finish this face to face. Grasping Sansa's rib cage, he lifted her off of his lap and had her turn around to straddle him. He entered her and then lay back on the bed, thrusting up into her as she rode him. Sansa locked her blue eyes onto his, groaning his name, and he lost it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"</span>
  <em>
    <span>Sansa</span>
  </em>
  <span>," he rasped through gritted teeth, tendons popping out along his neck as he gave himself over to his own release. Fucking hells. He didn't know if he could ever fuck anyone else after this.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>***</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sandor wrapped an arm around Sansa and cuddled her to his side, just like in her favourite daydreams. She idly stroked his chest, sighing contentedly. The room was bright with sunlight; it was only around half past noon.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"That's a fucking pleasant way to wrap up a gig," he remarked. Sansa craned her neck back and looked up at his face; he appeared to be </span>
  <em>
    <span>smiling</span>
  </em>
  <span>. This man who wore a scowl as easily as he wore a snug black t-shirt.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She grinned against his shoulder. "Have you done this...kind of thing much? With clients, I mean?" Maybe she shouldn't have asked; she suddenly wasn't sure if she wanted to know the answer. Sandor was perhaps not conventionally handsome, but he was a compelling man. Certainly, she couldn't be the only woman who found him irresistibly attractive. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sandor's reply was immediate and emphatic. "Fuck no! That's unprofessional!" he declared, sounding almost offended by the question..</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sansa snorted. "But you just did it with me!" she pointed out with amusement.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Aye," he shrugged. "That's different."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Different how?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sandor scratched his chest and swiveled his eyes to look at her face, thinking.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Before I answer that," he began, "You promised me an answer to </span>
  <em>
    <span>my</span>
  </em>
  <span> question earlier: what the fuck do you want with the likes of me? I wouldn't have considered myself your type." His stare was unwavering; Sansa knew he wanted the plain truth. She got the feeling he could sniff a lie easily. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But she had no wish to disguise her feelings, or be coy. "I really like you, Sandor," Sansa told him simply. "A lot." It was a fact: she liked his honesty, his unfiltered manner...and she definitely liked being in bed with him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sandor visibly relaxed, and tucked a long strand of Sansa's auburn hair behind her ear. "Aye. I like you, too," he rumbled, and leaned in for a kiss. Sansa smiled against his mouth; he was practically wearing his heart on his sleeve, she thought.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They didn't linger long...Sandor had another job to get to in the afternoon. He quickly got himself cleaned up and dressed, and went to gather his tools and equipment. Sansa dressed and met him at the threshold of her new front door.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sandor stepped out onto the entryway, and turned to face Sansa. She smiled shyly, despite the intimacy they'd just shared.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Thank you again for everything," she told him courteously. "You did an amazing job. I'm looking forward to the next phase…," She was referring to the renovation work, of course, but it wasn't lost on her that she could also be talking about what had just transpired between them. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sandor nodded. "It's been a pleasure. If you have any questions or problems, don't hesitate to contact me. I'll make it right. Otherwise, I'll be seeing you in a few months." He nodded again, once, and turned away; but then he stopped and turned back, his big powerful chest rising with a deep breath. Sansa's heart skipped a beat.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"And if there's anything else you need, in the meantime…," he began earnestly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"What if I just need you?" Sansa interjected, blue eyes fixed on his rugged face.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"You've got my number," Sandor finished, returning Sansa's meaningful gaze.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sansa pulled her phone out of her skirt pocket and began tapping away on the screen; moments later, Sandor's phone beeped. He put down his toolbox and retrieved the phone from his own pocket, reading the new text.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stark: Dinner at my house, 7pm? I'm cooking roast chicken…</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sandor glanced up from the phone at Sansa, and gave a little grin. He tapped his fingers on his phone screen as Sansa waited on pins and needles.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>SC: Put me down as a Fuck Yes. What can I bring?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sansa smiled, and began a reply.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stark: Your appetite...and your overnight bag.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She hoped she wasn't being too forward. She watched Sandor, holding her breath as he tapped a response into his phone one more time.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>SC: You don't have to ask me twice.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thank you for reading! 🌻</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Piss Off!</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Arya and Gendry visit the Wall in this Modern AU short.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Content warning for language and smut!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>Piss Off!</b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It had been Jon's idea for the gang to spend a few days at Sevenmas up at the Wall. Everyone except Arya had balked, at first; normally, for winter holidays, the Stark siblings liked to spend some of their holiday time down south. Escape the frigid cold...get a bit of colour on a Dornish beach...wear bits of silk for a change, instead of wool and leather…</span>
</p>
<p><span>But this year, Jon had suggested the Wall: the coldest place in Westeros at the coldest time of year. Sansa and Robb had whined at first, but soon came on board after their respective significant others had expressed interest. Bran assented to the plan once Jon assured him of accessibility for his wheelchair, and he invited Meera to join them. Rickon was indifferent, but came along, and Arya naturally invited her best friend of many years, Gendry. He always spent Sevenmas with the Starks anyway, and lately, he and Arya had been sort of feeling out...</span><em><span>something</span></em> <em><span>new </span></em><span>between them. Something that felt like a lot more than friendship. Arya had always found the idea of the Wall terribly romantic. She would never say so out loud of course, but privately, she couldn't imagine a better place to further this </span><em><span>something </span></em><span>with Gendry. </span></p>
<p>
  <span>As Director of the Wall Museum and Heritage Site, Jon had set up exclusive, private tours and outings for the group that the general public would never get access to. This was helped by the fact that large sections of the site and interpretive centre were undergoing renovations, and were therefore temporarily closed to the public. In other words, as Director, Jon could do whatever the fuck he wanted.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The lot of them made the two hour flight North in a 13-seater, twin turboprop Weircraft King Air 100, landing at half past 10 in the morning and shuttling straight to their hotel at the Queensgate (about 25km west of Castle Black, the main tourist site overseen by Jon).</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>After settling into rooms and gathering for a hearty luncheon of aurochs stew with black bread and ale (a very 'heritage style' meal), everyone boarded a van for Castle Black.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Complete restoration work had been undertaken several decades ago, but the Wall was ice; even in the frigid far North, with modern heating systems and technologies, the Wall and surrounding structures were susceptible to some degradation. Thus, the need for renovations every few years. All work had halted for the Sevenmas holidays however, and Castle Black was empty of people save for the required security staff.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The group milled around the main castle for a while, inspecting the various exhibits of period weaponry and trade tools, and heavy black wool and fur cloaks traditionally worn by men of the Night's Watch. But before long, Jon made the announcement that everyone was waiting for: "Who's first for a walk up top?" he shouted. For safety reasons, tours of the catwalk along the top of the Wall would be limited to groups of two or three people at a time.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Arya waved her arm around like an over-eager grade schooler. "Me and Gendry!" she screeched, grabbing Gendry by the elbow and hauling him out of the castle and over to the lift outside. One of the security personnel followed, and they made the long journey up the side of the greatest structure ever made by Man and magic.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>***</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gendry and Arya stood side by side at the guardrail, peering down at the frozen earth and forest north of the Wall, from more than 200 metres high.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Fuck, we’re high up!” Gendry gasped, rosy cheeked. His breathlessness came partly from their situation, and partly from the extreme cold. Taking a deep breath was almost painful. At a temperature of -20 Celsius and a wind chill that made it feel like -35, there was a very real risk of frostbite for those improperly geared up; this was also why visits at the top were limited to 15 minutes per trip. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Arya chuckled, her eyes bright with the thrill of being at the top of the world. “Yeah...you thinking about pissing over the side?” she asked with a cheeky grin.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gendry snorted. “What?? You mean, am I thinking about freezing my cock off?? Absolutely not!” He sniffed, then coughed from the cold, his breath blasting out in a cloud of steam. "I intend to keep all of my extremities, thank you very much."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hm," mused Arya. "I don’t have a cock to freeze off; I think I might give it a go.” There was a strong hint of challenge in her voice, a sure indication that she was after a bit of mischief. Arya Stark was frequently after a bit of mischief.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gendry narrowed his eyes, looking cautiously at his friend. “Shut up, you are not!" he retorted, uncertainly; he knew what that gleam in her eye meant. He attempted to dissuade Arya from this folly. "Well you’ve got a fanny...you’ll definitely freeze THAT.” He emphasized his warning with as stern a look as he could pull off, under the circumstances.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Arya shrugged in her puffy parka, the fabric making a crunchy sound at the movement. “Yeah, I’ve got a </span>
  <em>
    <span>hairy fanny</span>
  </em>
  <span>. It’s like a beard that way," she reasoned. "A beard keeps a face warm, right? So my fanny beard will keep my fanny from freezing!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gendry closed his eyes briefly. “That’s TMI, Ar.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Arya's steamy breath puffed out in Gendry's direction. “Seriously, TMI?? Don't tell me you're afraid of fannies??” She wagged her frosted eyebrows.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gendry pursed his lips prudishly. “No…,” he replied snippily.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Afraid of </span>
  <em>
    <span>hairy fannies</span>
  </em>
  <span>?” Arya pressed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gendry swung his fur-hatted head around, exasperated. “Not afraid of any fannies! Can we please just stop saying ‘fannies’??" he begged in vain.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"You're the one who brought up fannies in the first place!" Arya was like a bulldog; once she'd sunk her teeth into something, she wouldn't let it go.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I'm regretting that now," moaned Gendry in defeat. "Anyway, hairy...</span>
  <em>
    <span>privates</span>
  </em>
  <span> or not, I’m betting you don’t have a hairy arse, and if you want to piss off the edge, you’ll have to expose that too! As a matter of fact, the skin-to-air ratio would be a lot higher for you than for me, come to think of it…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Exactly, I agree!" Arya jumped in. "So </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span> should do it then.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No I shouldn't!" Under such provocation, Gendry's voice was heading into its upper register.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You needn’t be shy about it Gendry!" Arya cajoled him. "It’s not like I’ve never seen a cock before...and I’m sure you’ve got nothing to be ashamed of in that department.” Her eyes drifted down below Gendry's midriff; unfortunately for her, there was nothing to see (yet) but the high-loft, down-filled ripstop nylon shell of his winter parka.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gendry blushed, but smiled proudly. “Oh, well, I mean…," he paused, frowned, and gave his friend a look of playful accusation. "Arya Stark, are you trying to goad me into pissing off the edge of the Wall, just so you can get a look at my bits?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Now that you mention it...I actually wouldn’t mind having a look at your bits.” Arya admitted freely, boldly gazing up with a toothy smile at Gendry's fur-framed face.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He held her look for a long, exhilarating moment. “I wouldn’t mind you having a look at my bits either…," he murmured warmly. "It’s just that, you watching me empty my bladder isn’t exactly what I would have had in mind.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Arya raised her eyebrows. “What </span>
  <em>
    <span>do</span>
  </em>
  <span> you have in mind?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gendry seemed to consider something silently, but shook his head. “This </span>
  <em>
    <span>really</span>
  </em>
  <span> isn’t the place for it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“The place for </span>
  <em>
    <span>what</span>
  </em>
  <span>?” Arya insisted stubbornly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A long, frosty sigh escaped Gendry's lungs. “Arya…,” he started, but he was quickly interrupted.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Listen…," Arya lowered her voice to a conspiratorial tone. "Mads, the elevator guy, told me the catwalk’s west side security camera isn’t working…not that I give a shit about cameras, but you know…,” she gave a rebellious shrug.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gendry gaped at her. “What? When did he tell you that?? WHY would he tell you that?? And how do you know his name?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He's got a name tag, you stupid...I chatted him up when we first got here. I asked if there were any ‘blind spots’ up top, just out of curiosity…,” Arya gave a triumphant chuckle.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“But how...why would he...wait, what do you mean by 'chatted him up'...no, never mind. I don’t want to know.” Gendry pressed his leather gloves to his face in a futile attempt to unsee where this conversation was potentially heading.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Gendry, we’ve got ten minutes left up here. Mads won’t see us behind that pillar," she pointed to a spot just behind Gendry. "It’s a good way to keep warm…,” Arya edged toward Gendry, brushing a layer of new snow off the metal guardrail with a mittened hand. She stopped short when they were toe to toe, grinning up at him wickedly. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gendry looked behind him, then behind Arya towards the elevator; there was no sign of Mads. It was windy, snowy and freezing, but they were as alone as they could get and time was ticking away. It was now or never. “What the fuck have I gotten myself into?” he groaned.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>***</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Nine and a half minutes later…</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It wasn't entirely clear how they'd managed this position, it had all transpired so rapidly. They'd ducked around to the far side of a wide pillar, out of view of the elevator. Gendry, tall and strong as a bull, had Arya firmly in his arms, upright and pinned to the pillar as he enthusiastically thrusted away inside her...their heavy winter jackets unzipped, but still somehow basically fully clothed. Gendry couldn't have explained how it worked, only that Arya's trousers were very stretchy and that Arya herself was remarkably limber. Suddenly she came hard all around him, biting down on the collar of his flannel shirt with a growl.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Arya, ah fuck, gods...I’m coming...I’m going to pull out…,” Gendry gasped, precariously close to his finishing.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay, yes, yes…,” Arya agreed breathlessly. In one smooth motion, Gendry disengaged, set Arya down on her feet, and turned to lean against the catwalk guardrail with a long, low grunt. Arya slipped her trousers back up over her hips and pulled Gendry close, giggling and panting.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Where did it go?” she asked, chortling merrily.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gendry, guileless and ever so slightly uptight, blushed sheepishly. “Um, I think it went over the edge…,” he whispered with a grimace, cocking his head at the guardrail.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Arya doubled over in hysterical laughter. “You jizzed over the edge of the Wall!! Nice,” she cackled; Gendry's scandalized expression sent her into a second fit of hysterics.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gendry shook his head in bemused disbelief as he tucked himself back into his trousers and zipped up his coat. “How in the Seven Hells did this happen??” he wondered aloud. In the blink of an eye, it seemed he and Arya had found themselves in new territory, both literally and figuratively.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You were thinking about pissing off the edge of the Wall, and I convinced you not to,” Arya replied smartly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gendry grabbed her parka and wrapped her in his puffy, affectionate embrace. “You’re fucking crazy, Ar.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Arya smiled dreamily up at him. “Mmm. And I’m all yours, now!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Hah," Gendry barked. “I should hope so.” He leaned down and pressed his chilly lips to Arya's. The sweat generated by their exertions had frozen in their eyebrows and lashes in the brief moments it took to rearrange their outerwear; but now it melted again in the warmth of their kiss. They'd likely look a mess once they got back down to the ground. Speaking of which...</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oi, you two, time to go back down!” Right on cue at the 15 minute mark, Mads' husky voice cut through the frosty air.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Shit! We need to take a selfie!" Arya exclaimed, and felt around her inner pockets for her phone. The two of them posed in front of the now-infamous guardrail and quickly snapped their photos; before walking back to the lift, Arya took a shot of the pillar too, just because.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Dark Wings, Dark Words, and Lousy Hospitality</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>How do messenger ravens spend their free time? A short tale of Winterfell's rookery.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Mild language warning!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>
    
  </b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>Dark Wings, Dark Words, and Lousy Hospitality</b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Dawn was about to break in Winterfell, and Fergal stirred: stretched each appendage in turn, counted his toes (as was his compulsion), and sniffed at the chilly Northern air wafting through the tower windows. Fergal's keen sense of smell told him the kitchens were already in full swing for the day; soon, the rest of the castle would be buzzing, Maester Luwin and his helpers amongst the first to rise.</p>
<p>Fergal was excited to hear the waking noises of a few of his companions. He wasn't fond of solitude, not that there was any such thing when you were one of a hundred...no, he was rarely <em> truly </em> alone...really, it was the absence of conversation that Fergal disliked. He was a social fellow, and he thrived when he was engaged with his peers.</p>
<p>Fergal decided to stretch a little more enthusiastically, stamp his wrinkled feet, clear his scratchy throat, perhaps encourage wakefulness in the others. Early bird catches the worm, after all. Or in their case, scraps. Damn good scraps too; this was <em> Winterfell </em> after all, a Great House, not the piddly keep of some minor lord nobody had ever heard of. Here, the scraps were top-notch, and Maester's boys would be coming with breakfast soon enough.</p>
<p>Finally, on a perch next to Fergal, Anton roused and puffed up like a big black bellows, shaking out his feathers from the top of his head to the end of his long tail. Anton croaked and unfolded first his left wing, then his right in two long, trembling stretches. Fergal quorked a cheerful greeting.</p>
<p>"Morning, Ant!" he rasped. "Sleep well?" He shifted energetically from one foot to the other atop his wooden roost.</p>
<p>Anton blinked blearily back at Fergal. "Aye, well enough," he croaked in reply. "Gods, but you're an early riser Fergal, don't you ever think about having a bit of a lie-in?"</p>
<p>"Not me!" exclaimed Fergal, hopping down to the work top, side-stepping his own shit pile. Luwin's boys would take care of that, and the other hundred shit piles, later. "Lying-in is a waste of daylight!" Someone grumbled that it wasn't even daylight yet; Fergal ignored him. "The waking hours are full of potential: potential news, potential assignments, potential <em> pie… </em>,"</p>
<p>At that, a good part of the rookery erupted in a raspy chorus of "<em> Pie! Pie! Pie!" </em>, and Fergal flapped and chuckled merrily.</p>
<p>"That's right, pie! The castle dined on cottage pie last night, and we know which lucky bastards get the leftovers, don't we?" he cackled rhetorically. </p>
<p>"The 'ogs?" queried sleepy Stephen, daftly. Anton sighed and rolled his black eyes, but Fergal held up a wing. Stephen was new, they could give him a pass for not knowing everything straight away.</p>
<p>"Not the hogs, Stephen, they eat grains and root vegetables," Fergal explained benevolently. "<em> Ravens </em> get the castle's leftovers!"</p>
<p>An anticipatory murmur arose throughout the rookery as one by one, the rest of the birds awoke from their night's slumber. Fergal gazed about, making a quick accounting of his tower mates. Not all were present, some had been gone on assignment for several days and would not be seen for several more yet. That reminded him that old Bruce had been due back anytime, in fact should have returned the day before, by his estimation. But another sweep of the tower did not reveal the senior <em> corvus corax </em>. Ravens' work was often dangerous - 'dark wings, dark words', and all that (although Fergal thought that was such a stereotype) - what if something had happened, what if Bruce had run into trouble? Had anyone heard anything, Fergal wondered? He must enquire.</p>
<p>"Anton, Merten, have you two seen Bruce around? Is he back yet?" he quorked to his friends.</p>
<p>Anton had moved to a window and was too busy preening, but Merten cocked his head quizzically. "Come again? What packet?" Merten was terribly hard of hearing.</p>
<p>Fergal puffed up with a deep breath for patience, then raised his voice a few notches. "I ASKED ABOUT BRUCE! OLD BRUCE! IS HE BACK YET?" His caws echoed up in the tower rafters, causing a dozen or so other ravens to startle and flap about in a brief frenzy.</p>
<p>"Oh, for fuck's sake Fergal, I'm right here," came a resigned and crusty reply from somewhere above.</p>
<p>Fergal peered up, and sure enough, there sat a rumpled and grizzled looking Bruce, perched up in a high beam well away from the rest of the commotion. Or that had been his intention, at least.</p>
<p>"Ah! Bruce!" Fergal shouted up with good cheer. "I didn't see you get back! How's Eastwatch?"  Bruce, one of the most seasoned ravens in the rookery, had been sent on an errand far North to Eastwatch-by-the-Sea in place of Candace (the usual Eastwatch runner), who had recently been convalescing in her nesting box, on maternity leave.</p>
<p>Bruce squeezed out a large, wet, round dropping and waited until it hit the floor. "Came in late," he rasped. "You lot were already 'sawing logs', so I shoveled whatever tripe was left from dinner down my gullet, and went to bed. Eastwatch is shite. Hope I never have to go back. It's cold. It's salty. The Night's Watchmen are fucking stingy. You know what they give a visiting raven to eat? Fucking <em> seal blubber </em>! Tastes like rubbery sea water, that shite. Makes me gag. I ain't a gods-damned puffin, for shit's sake," Bruce grumbled and ruffled his feathers. He sighed heavily. "I'd take my fucking retirement already if it didn't mean getting plucked for fucking ladies' cloaks," he groused.</p>
<p>"Oohh, I've heard blubber is very high in omega-3s! That must be why you're looking so sleek, Bruce, all those fatty acids doing their good work," Fergal mused conversationally, not minding Bruce's ill temper. "Great for the ol' joints too, pity you don't care for the flavour!"</p>
<p>As if their talk of food had worked some kind of magic, the rookery door rattled and opened to reveal Luwin's boys, heavily laden with trays of sustenance for the occupants within: cold cottage pie (as Fergal had predicted), aurochs jerky (the toughest and stringiest bits), walnuts and surplus seeds, soup bones, and an assortment of deceased song birds and vermin. A veritable feast, as breakfasts went; even sleepy, grouchy old Bruce glided down from the rafters to partake with his raven brothers and sisters.</p>
<p>While the birds occupied themselves with their meal, the Maester's helpers scraped and swept the worktops and wooden floors of bird mess, a task that was performed twice daily. Winterfell took pride in every single one of its operations, including the maintenance of its rookery, and that pride was reflected in its birds. Outside of the Citadel, Winterfell's ravens were recognized as being amongst the most robust and reliable messenger birds in Westeros. Even so, prestigious or not, ravens the world over have their vices…</p>
<p>Anton dug his long black claws into a rat's carcass and tore off a foreleg. As he tossed his feathered head back and gulped down the meat, he fixed a beady eye upon Fergal and the others in turn.</p>
<p>"So," he whispered, as the birds huddled closer. "Time to place your bets: first in, and first out." The ravens each kept a small stash of treasures collected in their travels, and would wager said treasures on almost anything...such as, who would be the first to return home from assignment, and who would be first of the day to be sent out on a job. Correct guesses won the pot.</p>
<p>Fergal piped up. "Kestrel feather on Dreadfort Karl, first in; silver scabbard buckle on White Harbor Digby, first out." Fergal would never reveal his sources, but he'd picked up on some strong indications that Winterfell had important news to share with White Harbor. </p>
<p>"Silver, that's a hefty wager, my friend," commented Anton with a note of approval. "Who else?"</p>
<p>The other participating ravens completed their wagers. Anton placed his last. He shuffled his feet, and flapped his wings thoughtfully, considering his options.</p>
<p>"Get on with it, Anton! We haven't got all bloody day," old Bruce prodded impatiently. </p>
<p>Anton waddled over to his rat carcass and pecked at the long, fat tail. "Alright, alright. Rat tail on Deepwood Sally, first in; and three freshwater pearls on…," he paused for dramatic effect, "...Fergal to the Neck, first out!"</p>
<p>Fergal scoffed and blew a raspberry at his friend, or as close an approximation to a raspberry as a raven could make. Communications to Moat Cailin in the swampland of the Neck were infrequent at best; the floating 'castle' confounded even homing birds, easily getting lost for days or even weeks in the foggy swamp with its shifting bogs. But although Fergal was mostly used to correspond with other, nearby locations, he was in fact the only raven in their rookery trained to fly to the Neck. The last time he'd had to deliver a message to Moat Cailin, he had flown in circles in the fog for three days, without a bite to eat; finally, on the fourth day, he'd caught a frog; on the fifth day, he'd found the floating castle, where the Maester fed him frogs' legs; on the way home, he'd gotten lost <em> again </em>, and fed on frogs for another few days before the mist finally cleared up. To this day the thought of frogs' legs made Fergal turn green.</p>
<p>He hadn't been sent to the Neck in years, the likelihood that he would be flying there today was extremely low, surely...yet Anton had placed a very pricey bet - three freshwater pearls! - did he know something the rest of them did not?</p>
<p>Fergal bobbed his head at Anton and rasped what he hoped sounded like a confident chuckle. "Good luck with that!" he cawed jovially, and Anton bobbed his head in return.</p>
<p>The latch of the rookery door rattled again, as the boys had finished their duties and made to leave on other errands. However as the door swung wide, the boys stood to attention.</p>
<p>"Maester!" they greeted in unison.</p>
<p>"Very good, lads, carry on," Maester Luwin told them as he entered, and the boys exited the rookery, Luwin swinging the heavy door shut behind them. "Now, where is my good Fergal?" he called, and was answered with a chorus of raucous raven laughter.</p>
<p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thank you for reading! 🌻</p></blockquote></div></div>
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